


hard lines, soft sheets, and swords

by fyrefalcon



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Beads, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rhea would be so pissed, Sacrilege
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22426180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyrefalcon/pseuds/fyrefalcon
Summary: Byleth looked at him. “I don’t have anything, just some lubricant, and…” He trailed off and Claude followed his gaze across the room.Byleth was looking at the sword, a clear question in his eyes.Oh, no. No.But the part of Claude’s brain that was reserved for scheming was already clicking through the possibilities: It was smooth. It was flared at the base. It would piss Rhea off if she knew and was therefore hot. It was somehow an extension of Byleth.And it was the Sword of the Creator. And it would be in Claude’s ass.He shrugged. “Why not?”
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth & Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 85





	hard lines, soft sheets, and swords

**Author's Note:**

> for shiloh and everyone else who thinks of anal beads every time they see the sword of the creator
> 
> (i am so, so sorry for this.)

Claude had always been obsessed with the idea of the Sword of the Creator.

In his younger years, though, it had been nothing more than a figment, a fantasy, a scholarly quest. A concept to chase through history books and dark corners, a mystery to crack and a tool to wield. 

A sword born for cleaving mountains. The weapon of Nemesis himself.

As he grew, and his ambitions deepened, he began to see the potential of such a weapon, the possibility coiled within. A sword to sow discord and break down barriers both. In his weaker moments, he succumbed to fantasy, imagining himself hefting it into the sky, wondering if the power inside the sword would consume him. 

Imagined himself the hero in the tales his mother had read to him as a boy. 

But now, as the sword glowed in the hand of his professor, illuminating his sharp chin and the dark hair that framed his face, Claude knew that he would not be wielding this weapon himself. He felt his childish ambitions ebb away.

It would have to be enough just to watch--one of the many difficult concessions Claude had made as he’d transitioned into his questionable adulthood.

Byleth flicked his wrist at the final mage in the holy sanctum, and the flame emperor’s general crumpled several paces away, the sword expanding, delivering Byleth’s judgment, and then clicking back into place. 

Claude was fascinated and overcome. With the professor on his side and now this? Nothing could stop them. He imagined his future unfolding before him like the segments of the sword: what was moments ago a collection of figments snapped together like a bridge before him.

He met Byleth’s eyes, red with reflected flame. 

Together. They would build a new world together. 

***

The world they were creating started with the two of them. Alone. 

What had begun as practical questions about tactics and classwork had turned into meandering conversations about philosophy and life and Claude’s wilder schemes, and just a week before--now that Claude was officially eighteen--it had turned into something more.

Months of waiting, of agony, had been relieved by the pressure of the taciturn man’s lips against his own, Byleth’s warm hands pressing into the planes of his stomach, the sweet physical release compounded, heightened by his infatuation. 

If Claude was honest with himself, he’d been infatuated with Byleth since the moment their eyes met in Remire. And Claude always tried to be honest with himself. Mostly because he wasn’t honest with anyone else.

Claude had stood silently at his professor’s side as they’d dealt with the aftermath of the battle in the Holy Mausoleum, and later, he’d crouched silently in the wings of Rhea’s audience chamber, listening as the archbishop debriefed Byleth from his undiscovered location in the shadows. 

Now that darkness had fallen, Claude rapped his knuckles against his professor’s door. 

Within the room, he heard Byleth shift, and Claude couldn’t help but remember the man inside pressing him fiercely into the wood of the door that still separated them. 

Claude wasn’t a stranger to love, nor inexperienced in more...carnal matters, with men and women alike. But what he felt for the man who had tumbled into his life over the last few moons was unfamiliar and raw. 

He couldn’t quench his need for it.

Byleth opened the door to his own room, and Claude was already half hard. He thanked the darkness of the evening for masking the flush in his cheeks. 

“Evening, Teach,” Claude said, keeping his voice light. “Quite a day we’ve had, eh?”

Byleth didn’t smile, but he nodded. Claude noticed that he looked drawn around the eyes. When he responded, his voice was weary. “Yes. I’m quite exhausted.” 

Claude took a step into the room, warring between his own desires and the exhaustion in his professor’s voice. “I don’t have to stay long.” He couldn’t help but flick his eyes to the sword that dominated the corner of the room, propped against the wall, unsheathed. “I--”

Byleth followed his eyes, closing the door behind him. “It’s really something, isn’t it.”

Claude nodded. “I can’t believe it’s real.”

Byleth sat down on his bed, his eyes still fixated on the weapon. “Did you know it’s not even sharp?” 

Claude’s brow raised. “No way.” 

“Yes. Something about the magic and the material itself. Rhea didn’t quite explain it, but--” 

“Yeah, I saw it in action too.” 

Byleth nodded. 

Claude took another step towards his professor. Seated on the bed, he looked smaller somehow, and Claude wanted to reach forward and soothe the furrow that had settled into his brow. “Is something the matter?”

Byleth laughed, but the sound was dry. “Besides this?” He gestured to the sword. “Besides everything?” He met Claude’s worried gaze. “No.” 

Claude closed the distance between them and placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

Byleth met his eyes. Claude remembered how they looked reflecting the fire of the sword that was now inert in the corner, and a part of him thrilled. He felt his cock twitch in his pants. 

His professor nodded. “Maybe too much.” 

Claude squeezed, feeling the strength of Byleth’s shoulder beneath his hand. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

Byleth shook his head, his face impassive. “I’m just glad you came.” 

Claude supposed that sounded enough like permission. He leaned down, pressing a kiss against the thin skin of Byleth’s smooth cheekbone. He tilted his jaw, aiming for the other man’s mouth, and then stilled, uncertain, when he could feel Byleth’s breath mingling with his own. 

Byleth leaned into him, closing the distance between them; Claude felt the pressure of his lips like a sigh, and leaned into them, into him, shifting to straddle the other man on his own bed, attempting to rein in his own eagerness. 

He hated his true desires laid so bare, but around Byleth, it was hard to keep himself under control. 

Byleth reached into Claude’s hair, cupping the back of his neck, pulling his face closer to his own. Claude’s thinking fuzzed and his restraint dissolved against Byleth’s mouth, feeling his tongue slide against his own, feeling his own cock harden as the other man responded beneath him. 

Claude moaned into Byleth’s mouth. Some vague part of him protested, reminded him that this was his  _ teacher-- _ but they were both of age, and truly, what were power dynamics when Claude could be a king and Byleth could cleave mountains with his sword…

Byleth’s other hand reached between them, fumbling at the fastening of Claude’s pants. For all his grace on the battlefield, the professor was surprisingly clumsy in the bedroom. 

Claude found that he didn’t care. In some ways, Byleth’s lack of polish was charming. 

“Here, let me help,” Claude said, reaching down to undo his own pants, allowing his cock to spring free. 

Byleth’s hand encircled his shaft almost immediately, and although Claude couldn’t confirm, he suspected the other man found some sort of comfort in Claude’s physical closeness and obvious desire. 

“Mmm, that feels so good,” he said, encouraging him. Byleth’s breath caught in response, and he shifted underneath Claude, who was now leaned back on his own haunches, so that he could take him into his mouth. 

Claude’s hands fisted in Byleth’s hair, and his entire world narrowed until the only thing he could feel was the sensation of Byleth’s mouth on his cock. The wet sucking of the professor on him was the only sound in his room besides Claude’s own ragged breathing. 

His voice sounded rough, even to his own ears, as he urged Byleth on. “Oh, yes, just like that--”

He caught himself before he uttered “Teach.” Even in his half-addled state he was aware of the fact that it would likely be a mood killer. 

Byleth’s mouth moved steadily along his length. Claude looked down at the man, watching his cock hilted into his mouth, noticing the dark line of Byleth’s lashes against the paleness of his skin. 

Claude’s own hand was richly contrasted against the milkiness of Byleth’s neck, and he used gentle pressure to slow Byleth down, savoring the tightness of his mouth tugging along his shaft. 

It felt so, so good--but Claude wanted more. Wanted to be filled, with Byleth’s mouth still on him; he wished he’d brought his satchel along, his collection of unmentionables for times like these. 

Byleth, supernaturally perceptive, could sense Claude’s distraction. He pulled away. “What is it, Claude?”

Claude ran his fingers through Byleth’s hair. “I...I just was thinking that I should have brought my...tools,” he said, uncertain if Byleth would catch his drift. 

The professor continued to stroke Claude’s cock absentmindedly while his eyes crinkled, considering, and Claude fought to keep his eyes open against the pleasure. 

Claude recognized the moment he understood. “Oh. Those kinds of tools.” Byleth looked at him. “I don’t have anything, just some lubricant, and…” He trailed off and Claude followed his gaze across the room. 

Byleth was looking at the sword, a clear question in his eyes. 

_ Oh, no. No.  _ But the part of Claude’s brain that was reserved for scheming was already clicking through the possibilities: It was smooth. It was flared at the base. It would piss Rhea off if she knew and was therefore hot. It was somehow an extension of Byleth. 

And it was the Sword of the Creator. And it would be in Claude’s ass. 

He shrugged. “Why not?” He shifted backwards, pulling his pants down the rest of the way, taking off his shoes and socks.

Byleth crossed over to the sword, and the small room was illuminated by the glow of the weapon as soon as Byleth’s hand touched the hilt. Claude reached over to the professor’s desk, sliding open the top drawer to grab the small bottle he knew was stored there.

Byleth returned to the bed, sword in hand, and Claude prepared himself before handing the bottle to Byleth. 

His professor turned to him. “We cannot mention this to Rhea, to Seteth--”

“Oh, believe me, I know.” 

Byleth’s face was blank as he responded, and Claude wished--not for the first time--that he was better at discerning the professor’s thoughts from his facial expressions. “This is sacrilege.” 

“We don’t--”

Byleth smiled, just barely. “If you’re okay with it, I am too.” 

Claude felt his own lips curl up in response. “I’m game.” 

Claude sat back down on the bed before lying on his side. Byleth approached him, and Claude realized that under other circumstances, the sight of the man wielding this sword in front of him might be the last thing he’d see before departing this earth. 

He was thankful that wasn’t the case tonight--at least not figuratively. Claude wryly considered that he was hot enough for Byleth in this moment that his orgasm alone might move mountains.

The bed creaked as Byleth joined him, oiling the end of the sword before placing the bottle on the floor. He reached around Claude, spreading him with one hand as he eased the tapered end against his entrance. 

“You okay, Claude?”

Claude could barely answer, rich with anticipation, swirling with a heady sense of nerves and arousal. He nodded. 

Byleth leaned forward, pressing the tip into his entrance, stretching him, while his other hand found Claude’s cock once again. Claude heard himself sigh into the room, his ragged breath muffled by Byleth’s pillow, thick with the scent of him. 

Surprisingly, the sword was...warm. Byleth pushed it into his ass, first the tip of it, followed by the swell of the shaft. Except for the flatness of the shape, and the fact that it was hard as bone, Claude could have mistaken the blade for Byleth himself with the heat that was now radiating into the core of him. 

Byleth pressed the flat of his tongue on the underside of Claude’s cock, and Claude felt himself twitch as Byleth gave him another inch. The sword was pressing against him from the inside, and the combination of the heavy fullness and Byleth’s mouth on him was  _ exactly _ what he’d been craving.

Pure satisfaction. Fucking his professor was taboo enough, but the transgression of having this holy relic shoved deep into his ass had Claude shaking with bliss and a shimmering, torturous, cerebral delight.

He moaned into the pillow, taking care to keep quiet, lest they draw questions. The unearthly orange glow in the room was unusual enough to inspire attention on its own.

Byleth swirled his tongue around the head of Claude’s cock. The feeling of his mouth, combined with the stimulation of the sword filling up his backside--which Byleth was moving in small, deliberate ways--filled Claude with a deep, unspeakable pleasure, which already threatened to push him over the edge. 

His fingers tightened in Byleth’s hair. “I’m--I’m close, Teach,” he breathed, too far gone to police his own language. 

Byleth didn’t falter. Instead, he took Claude’s cock deep in his own mouth, and with a deft flick of his wrist, more dexterous than anything else he’d done in the bedroom thus far, he encouraged the sword to break apart, separating the firm line of the blade into hot pools of pleasure that molded themselves to the curve of Claude’s body.

He felt his hips twitch, and he thrust himself into Byleth’s mouth, desperate. 

Claude felt his ass tighten against the orbs inside of him. It was almost too much, and then, when Byleth pressed up against his prostate from the outside, just as he’d shown him the last night they’d spent together, it was definitely too much.

He struggled against the sensation, willing himself to last, to enjoy this, to savor the feeling of being taken by this man and this...sword, the potential of their coupling all too obvious--

Byleth pulled down on the hilt of the blade, and the segments left his body one at a time, each departure causing him to shudder bodily against Byleth’s sheets, clutching the professor’s head as he came, rapturously, his self-control shattering as he succumbed to the sheer pleasure. 

Claude spurted his release deep into the other man’s mouth--Claude couldn’t ever remember feeling this good--and he literally trembled with pleasure as the tip left his ass, feeling spent and empty and placid in a way he couldn’t quite put into words, even if he’d wanted to. 

Byleth sucked him dry and then released the sword so that he could join Claude in the small bed. Claude snuggled into Byleth’s chest, and he could feel the cooling line of the blade behind him as Byleth stroked his hair through the afterglow.

When he came back into his own mind, he sighed deeply against Byleth, feeling his body relax against the taut muscles of the other’s torso.

“Well, Teach. That was certainly...something.” Claude couldn’t help but laugh. “I offered to help you relax, and here I am, nearly boneless.” 

He relished Byleth’s little snort of laughter, and he tilted up his chin so he could thank him, kissing him sweetly. 

“So how about we take care of you?” Claude asked. “You’re the one who had the rough day, after all.”

Byleth smiled again, a rarity. “Yes.” He rolled over and then handled the bottle of oil to Claude. “I think it’s my turn.” 

“Of course.” He didn’t know quite how to ask the question he was considering. “Do you--” 

Byleth understood. “No. I’ve had enough of that sword for today. All I want...is you.” 

Claude couldn’t be happier than to comply.

***

**Author's Note:**

> only @ me if you want to give me high fives for this travesty plz: [twitter](https://twitter.com/fyre_falcon)
> 
> (yes, i know what the sword is made of, and yes, i know how horrible that makes this)


End file.
